


Relax (Don't Do It)

by amathela



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Accidental Phone Sex, F/M, Late Night Conversations, Sexual Frustration, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:48:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8310970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amathela/pseuds/amathela
Summary: It's pretty much the worst pep talk ever. Or, a late-night phone conversation between Ginny and Mike gets (almost) out of hand.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shoemaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoemaster/gifts).



> A coda to episode 4.

"I don't want to train tomorrow," Ginny says, and it makes Mike pause, almost check the caller ID on his phone.

"You don't want to train?" he asks, disbelieving. "You always want to train."

"I don't want to train," she says. "I have to train."

"You're in better shape than ninety percent of the team."

"Excuse me?" she asks. He thinks about it for a second, and has to admit that, yeah, she has a point.

"Fine," he says. "You're in better shape than anyone on the team. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," she says. 

She doesn't sound ecstatic; she sounds tired. It's been a long day, a tough day - for both of them - and he doesn't blame her. He wonders how long until she admits it and kicks him off the phone, or if she's too stubborn, if they're going to play sleep chicken until one of them (and yeah, it's probably going to be him) falls asleep on the line.

"I can tell," he says instead, and doesn't say anything else when she yawns. (Maybe he has to cover the phone to yawn himself.) Who says he isn't a fucking gentleman? 

"Shut up," she says. 

Whatever. It's kind of nice to see her tired, like she's human, like he's not the only one. "You should get that perfect ass into bed."

"I'm in bed," she says, and that - well, it doesn't do nothing for him. "I think I'm going to stay in bed for a week."

He's not touching that one. Whatever else she may be, she's his rookie, and he's not that much of a player that he can't have a conversation with a woman without imagining her in bed.

Even if she brought it up first.

"I think you did fine," she says, when he doesn't respond for a while.

"You're comforting me?" he asks. "I though I was supposed to give the pep talks."

"Yeah, the one about my home run was particularly reassuring."

"What can I say?" he says. "They can't all be winners."

"Don't I know it," she says. So she's still in her head, a little. He hates seeing it, especially on Ginny; he knows how easily she can get stuck there.

"You need to rest," he says. "I'll help you drill tomorrow."

"I need a bath," she says, and wow, she is really testing his lack of imagination tonight. "A long, hot bath. And a massage."

"I could help you with that, too," he says. Not on purpose, or at least, not in a way he was thinking about. 

He's about to panic, backtrack, when she says, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he says. So instead of walking it back, he's walking it forward. Great decision. "I've been told I've got great hands."

"I'll bet," she says, and there's something in her tone, underneath the mocking. Or maybe he's just tired, too. "I've got this thing in my shoulder -"

"Underneath the shoulder blade?" he asks. He's relieved - almost all of him is relieved - to be talking about baseball again. "You need to get that looked at. Release some of that tension."

"What I need," she says, "is to get off, sleep, and wake up feeling almost human again."

A jolt of electricity runs though Mike's body. Did she just - she definitely didn't say that. His brain is fucking with him.

He's going to change the subject. He's going to ignore it. 

He's going to hang up.

"Don't we all," he says instead. And he didn't, but yeah, okay, he does now, his cock straining against his pants and all he can think about is her getting off, her getting off and telling him about it -

"Kinda hard with you on the phone," she says, laughter and he's pretty sure embarrassment in her voice. So she's playing it off; he can help her out.

"Kinda hard over here, too," he says, and he'd feel better about the joke if weren't also painfully true. And he only means to adjust himself, to get a bit more comfortable (or a bit less comfortable, depending on your take on it), but the groan he lets out is a bit - okay, a lot - more audible than he intended.

He desperately hopes she play that one off, too, though he honestly wouldn't blame her if she just hung up on his ass.

Instead, he hears -

Nothing. He hears nothing. He definitely does not hear her gasp.

(She probably just fucking yawned or something, stop, do not say what you're thinking.)

"You looked good out there," he says. And now he wouldn't blame her if she sued his ass.

"Yeah?" she asks. Doesn't hang up on him. Doesn't call him out. "I thought I was a complete failure."

"No," he says. And apparently he's doing this, but he could swear there's something in her voice, something that wasn't there before, that's telling him he's not completely out of line. "I mean, you looked good."

"Yeah?" she says again, and damn. He almost didn't think he was right. "Those jerseys are pretty sexy."

"I know you've always thought so," he says. He thinks about Ginny, still in bed, looking at his poster on the wall, and his hand drops down to rest on his cock.

"Mmm-hmm," she says. He can hear rustling on the other end of the line, and so what, she's probably just rolling over, just getting comfortable. She's almost definitely not doing what he's thinking about doing. "Well, maybe a little."

"A-ha!" he says. "I knew it. Knew you had a crush on me."

"Had," she says. "So past tense."

"Irrelevant," he says, and right now, it feels like it. "So, what part of me did you like best? The guns? The abs?"

"Your ass," she says, and yeah, that's enough to do it. Mike's hand tightens almost of its own accord, and he strokes his cock through his pants; long, slow strokes that almost drown out how much of a shitty person he is.

"Almost as good as yours," he chokes out somehow, and suspects it doesn't come off quite as casual as he'd like.

"So you're an ass man," she says, and her voice is thick, too. Probably with sleep. Almost definitely just sleep.

"I did tell you," he says. Slips his hand underneath his pants, and god, he's going to fucking hell.

"It is pretty tight," she says, and lets out a long sigh, and -

Maybe he's not going to hell. Or at least, not alone.

"Don't get me wrong," he says. And this is the part where, if he's wrong, he'll be facing half a dozen harassment suits before he wakes up tomorrow, and not without good cause. "I like your tits, too."

He doesn't breathe. Just waits.

"Yeah," she says. Her voice is lower, now, huskier. "Me, too."

Well, fuck.

"Ginny," he says, and he has absolutely no idea what he was going to say next. It doesn't matter; he's rendered speechless, anyway, when she moans into the goddamn phone.

"Ginny," he says again, hoping to get the same reaction. He thinks about what he wants her to say to him, think about the things that would definitely get him off, and he says, "You're an amazing ball player."

Instead, he gets laughter. "You're an amazing ball player?" she asks. "Is that your idea of dirty talk?"

"Is that what we're doing here?" he asks. "I thought we were talking baseball."

"When are we ever not?" she asks. Her voice sounds a little more normal, now, and he's torn between relief and intense frustration. Mostly relief, he tells himself. 

She laughs, sounding a little embarrassed, and it breaks most of what's left of the spell. And that's a good thing, he thinks. There are about a dozen lines they crossed back there, more they were about to step right over, and this is good. It's better. Better than having phone sex with his twenty-three year old pitcher like some asshole who can't keep it in his pants.

That's what he tells himself.

"I'm going to finish up and go to sleep," she says, and that's - well, it's not nothing. But he's not stupid enough to think it's something, either. "You should do the same."

"I will ... definitely do that," he says. Not that it's going to take him long. "Hey. Have a good rest, okay?"

"Yeah," she says.

"I'll see you at training?"

"I'll see you at training," she says. "I can't wait."

Yeah. Neither can he.

(He is, for the record, completely fucked. But he's pretty sure he already knew that.)


End file.
